Page 62 of Fifth
Hannah pushed up onto one elbow, eyes clearer now, mouth set. “Then we go, too. I’m not staying on a ship while Sixth—”
“No.” He cupped her face. “You will not.”
“Why not?” Fury flared, fast and bright. “She’s my sister, Locus. She’s—”
He guided her down, not to pin, but to gather. He drew her in until her forehead rested against his chest and her ear found his heart.
“Because you are pregnant with our child,” he said, and the words changed the air in the room. “And I will not risk either of you.”
She went very still. The space between one breath and the next opened wide. He caught the moment she realized this was the thing he had seen on the med-strip. Shock traveled through her like a ripple from a dropped stone, moving outward into every place her body held quietfear.
“Pregnant,” she whispered.
“Affirmative.” His palm stayed gentle on her abdomen, heat and vow together. “The readings are clear. Iverified three times. Isent the results to Apex.”
“What did he say?”
“That he will route resources and set a retrieval vector for Emmy. That he will act quickly.” He let his mouth touch her temple. “He also said that I am to be still for once in my life.”
Hannah made a sound he hadn’t heard from her before—half laugh, half sob. “That sounds like him,” she said, and the way she said it made him imagine a time when the three of them would sit in the ship’s galley and argue about tactics over mugsof something strong and human and hot. The image landed in him like a stake driven andtied.
Her hand covered where his rested on her belly. He felt the pulse there and knew it was hers, not yet the smaller one hidden deep within, still too new to be found. He didn’t care. He heldboth.
“I didn’t plan this,” she said. “Any of it.”
“Neither did I,” he said. “I planned a clean line and a hard exit and a war that didn’t touch you.” He shook his head once. “Plans break.”
She tipped her face up. “You’re not angry?”
“No.” His answer came with no space for doubt. “I am…” He searched for a word that wouldn’t sound foolish in his mouth. “I am changed.”
Her eyes filled and didn’t spill. She pressed her lips to the center of his chest, just left of the scar that marked a time he had been foolish in a different way. “Me too,” she whispered. “I’m terrified. But I’m… I’m staying with you.”
For a moment the power of her words struck through his chest, fierce and unexpected—that she was choosing to remain with him. He let the intensity of it settle, the realization that he was no longer alone. Then he added, steady and certain, “I will guard you both through the rest of our lives.”
She breathed, long and deep, and something eased in her that no med-unit could’ve fixed. When she spoke again her voice carried a new axis. “Tell me what happens next,” she said. “All of it. Not the short version.”
“Apex will dispatch a pair of ghost-ships to lift the last of the headman’s men out of the rubble and strip the camp forevidence before local authorities muddle it,” Locus said. “He has already traced three accounts from the ledger, and one of those accounts will lead to a slaver storage node where people are kept in cold and sold as if they were harvested parts. Itold him—not gently—that Emmy must be the first rescued. He sent back a single glyph in reply:Already moving.”
He continued, voice certain. “Emmy was not sent to a market. She was sold to one man. Apex is already tracing that line. It may take time, but he will find her. While we wait, my ship will stay hidden in orbit, silent. When Apex locates her, asignal will come—an alert on the bridge or a light in the med-suite. If we are away from those places, the ship itself will carry the message so we cannot miss it.”
“And if Sixth doesn’t find her there?” she asked.
“Then he will widen the net,” he said. “You will not go to ground. You will not run with me into a gun.” He looked at her until she looked back. “I will not bargain on two lives.”
She stared at him for a long breath, then another. “Okay,” she said finally, reluctance streaming through the word. “Okay. Ihate it. But okay.” She pressed her forehead to his again. “You know this won’t make me quiet.”
“I do not want you quiet.”
“Good.”
She exhaled and settled fully against him. Silence rose around them like warm water. The ship shifted almost imperceptibly as the nav-sphere corrected to a more efficient orbit. He sensed the change throughout his body, afamiliar hum that had always steadied him and never once felt like home untilnow.
He could’ve let her sleep. He should have. The med-suite had pushed in a reserve of nutrients along with the repair protocols and her levels were climbing toward baseline. But her hand slid over his hip and came to rest at the back of his thigh and he knew the night hadn’t finished drawing them back into each other’s arms, into the wordless way two people could find peace together.
He kissed her again and didn’t fight the way the gravity between them turned into heat. It wasn’t the storm this time. It was the after-tide that reaches higher on the beach than anyone expects because the moon is new and the ocean remembers. He moved with her through that quiet surge, deeper, named by nothing but breath.
They lingered for a long time, touching and exploring, rediscovering what it meant to be alive and together. Every kiss was slower, every caress more deliberate, areminder that survival had given them this gift. She whispered his name like it was both security and invitation. He answered with vows made in the dark, promises stitched into skin with touch and breath. Together, they found release again, softer this time, bound not by urgency but by the certainty that they had more than fear now—they had each other.
